


Nona. Decima. Morta.

by galaxy_neozone



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Also weaving, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Greek Mythology - Freeform, I mention looms a lot, Looms, M/M, Maybe a bit too much, Red String of Fate, Referenced Minor Character Death, Roman mythology, Soulmates, The Fates - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxy_neozone/pseuds/galaxy_neozone
Summary: The Fates—responsible for weaving the threads that govern all of creation.For centuries, Jeno has provided a vital service to humanity, giving mortals a shot at true love, but he can’t help wondering who concerns themselves with his happiness?
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 15
Kudos: 139
Collections: Challenge #3 — soulmates





	Nona. Decima. Morta.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever written a shorter length fic, so the whole process has been something of an experiment for me. I hope you enjoy it!

“Look alive, gods, goddesses and assorted non-binary deities.” Taeyong’s voice rings out loud and clear, bouncing off the walls as he bustles into the Soulmate Facilitation office like a god on a mission. “I’ve got a fresh batch of souls here, all ready and raring to meet their destiny.”

_ Name: Chittaphon Leechiapornkul. Designation: Mortal (Earth). Age: 24. _

Jeno doesn’t bother to look up from the report in his hands. He knows the view will be exactly the same as the last five times Taeyong has given this speech, and Jeno is already woefully behind on his quota for the day.

_ Orientation: Sexual Attraction (Omni). Soulmate: Identified. 3-029-602-402b (John Suh). _

He senses Taeyong’s aura start to weave its way through the maze of workstations. He’ll be carrying a huge stack of files, each containing a new assignment from upper management. On his journey, several from the top will inevitably slide off onto the floor, as they always do, to be forgotten until some hapless intern stumbles across them in a few decades.

What’s left will make their way to the distribution hub on the far side, where the administration team will sort them by importance. Top priority cases — royalty, celebrity scandals in the making, and the occasional prophecy or two — will immediately find their way onto the desks of middle management, to be swiftly distributed to the masses for weaving. Jeno himself will probably have three new urgent assignments by lunch, on top of his current workload.

_ Assignment Type: First meeting. Urgency: N/A. Assignee: Any. _

Without looking, Jeno reaches for the spool of scarlet thread he knows is hooked onto the spindle at his left elbow. He drapes a few lengths over his arm for slack and then tugs the loose end towards him. The large loom that takes up most of the space in his cubicle is already perfectly tightened, poised for him to simply let the shuttle fly, so Jeno allows his eyelids to flutter closed.

“Good morning, love. Did you miss me?” He can faintly hear Taeyong, all the way on the other side of the office, attempting — unsuccessfully — to flirt with the Admin Manager. For his part, Doyoung is probably rolling his eyes at the other god’s shameless antics, like he’s been doing every day for the past six hundred years or so, as he takes receipt of the new assignments.

Jeno tunes out Doyoung’s inevitable scathing response, letting his mind empty and his consciousness drift. After nearly two millennia in the job, it’s almost effortless at this point to tap into the lifeforce of the universe, his non-corporeal self riding the winds of fate in search of the mortal he’s been assigned to weave for.

He finds Chittaphon almost immediately, leaving a public building with a steaming cup of coffee cradled protectively against his chest. It takes only a few more seconds to identify his soulmate, John, walking a large, fluffy dog on a leash in a nearby park. Chittaphon is already walking in his direction, meaning that half of Jeno’s job is already done, so he smiles to himself as he bends over the loom in front of him and begins to do what he does best.

As he orchestrates a spectacle that even Jaemin from Major Life Events would be proud of — Chittaphon landing dramatically in the other man’s arms, following a chaotic chase involving John’s runaway animal — Jeno can distantly feel the thread slipping effortlessly through his deft fingers, the shuttle flying from hand to hand so fast that it’s probably no longer visible to the naked eye.

Over, under, over, under; each pass through the loom embeds the narrative into the tapestry by sheer force of will, the magic bestowed upon him as a deity granting Jeno the ability to weave truth into reality. Over, under, and then back; this time carefully reinforcing the attraction that already exists, to give them the best chance at happiness.

Jeno is well aware of the enormous responsibility that comes with his job, which is part of why he loves it so much. It’s also why his heart leaps in his chest as the bond he’s weaving between their souls manifests and solidifies, a slim scarlet tether inexorably binding the pair together in the fabric of the universe.

Chittaphon introduces himself as Ten, which elicits a smile from John so wide that Jeno can feel his own cheeks ache with the force of it. Johnny, as he offers in return, asks Ten if he wants to grab coffee, to replace the drink sacrificed to Jeno’s matchmaking chaos. Ten agrees, Johnny’s smile grows, and Jeno’s work is done.

As he reluctantly extracts himself from the mortal realm, the ever-present winds gently guiding his consciousness back into his body, Jeno can’t help but wonder what the future will hold for these two fledgeling souls. He knows it’s not always enough, the bond not always strong enough to prevent heartbreak in the future, but he fervently hopes for the best for them.

He always does — long after the memories have faded for most of his colleagues. Meddling beyond his remit is strictly forbidden, so it’s not like he can easily check up on his assignments, but that doesn’t stop him from dwelling. Renjun often tells him that he’s far too sentimental for his own good, but he can’t help it. He cares, even if it’s well above his pay grade to do so.

“Are you okay?” Blinking, Jeno registers the abandoned shuttle in his hands, thread slowly unspooling onto the floor between his feet. Throwing an arm out to stop the spindle from turning, he looks up to see a familiar face peering down at him over the divider between their cubicles.

“Hey, Hyuck.” He makes an effort to smile warmly at his best friend, trying to play it off like he wasn’t just lost in his thoughts, but Donghyuck’s knowing smirk tells him he hasn't been entirely successful.

“Morning, Jen.” Donghyuck disappears for a moment, only to appear at the opening to Jeno’s cubicle instead. He enters without waiting for an invitation, propping himself up against the wooden frame of the loom. “You look tired today.”

“I’m fine.” Since gods don’t actually need sleep, cycling off work only to battle the monotony of endless millennia on the same career path, Jeno knows Donghyuck isn’t talking about physical exhaustion. He also knows there’s no way his friend can be aware of the real reason for his distraction, so it must just be an especially astute observation. “Just behind my quota already.”

Jeno slides the spool off the spindle and starts to carefully wind back in his tangled thread. He sets his shuttle off to one side for safekeeping as he works, using the task to avoid having to maintain eye contact with Donghyuck. It’s not easy, given the lack of free space in the already cramped cubicle, but he manages.

“You seem distracted,” Donghyuck tells him, glancing meaningfully at the mess Jeno’s made of the floor. Jeno can’t even argue with him there. He doesn’t know how long he was absent, or how long Donghyuck stood watching him stare blankly at the thread slipping through his fingers, but it probably doesn't look great. “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?”

“I said I was fine.”

He nudges Donghyuck gently by the hip when he gets a little too close to his precious tapestry for comfort, and then returns all his materials to their proper places. Donghyuck watches him intently, following each move he makes with childlike interest. Jeno almost asks him what he’s doing, before he remembers that not many weavers use a traditional loom anymore.

He doesn't often visit Donghyuck’s cubicle, the pair choosing to meet in the cafeteria at lunch like civilised gods should, but Jeno remembers well the day last decade when they replaced half the looms in the office with fancy new computers. Personally, he still prefers the tradition and tactile simplicity of the original — a tried and true process dating back to the original Fates themselves — but he’s been subjected to enough of Donghyuck’s exuberant rants on technology to know he disagrees.

Donghyuck is an expert at weaving soul bonds through video games, using his abilities to manipulate his assignments through images on a screen. It doesn’t really make sense to Jeno, who prefers to visit his charges up close and in person, but it works for Donghyuck and for many others in their office.

“Surprisingly, I’m actually ahead for today, so do you mind if I hang out with you for a while?” As he speaks, Donghyuck steps towards the loom again, arm outstretched towards the completed portion of the fabric. Jeno smacks his hand away, ignoring the cheeky grin Donghyuck flashes him, and shrugs noncommittally.

“Suit yourself.” He picks up the paper with his completed assignment on it and checks the names one more time, committing them to memory. Tucking it back into the folder it came from, he drops it into the wastebasket in the corner of the room. “It’s nearly lunchtime anyway. I probably only have time for one more before then.”

The next folder is thicker, stuffed with several sheets of paper. He pulls them out, heart sinking into the floor as he scans the first few lines. He can feel Donghyuck leaning down to read over his shoulder, but ignores him for the time being.

_ Name: Qian Kun. Designation: Mortal (Earth). Age: 24. _

Jeno remembers that name. If he looks, it’s probably still in the stack of completed tapestries in his out-tray. It can’t have been more than a year, and yet...

_ Orientation: Sexual Attraction (Homo). Soulmate: Deceased. _

There must have been an administrative error. He knows bad things happen — because gods gossip around the water cooler, like every other life form in existence — but weavers don’t get repeat assignments. Ever. If a soul is assigned again, it’s assigned to someone else.

_ Assignment Type: Damage control and soulmate reassignment. Urgency: Level 3. Assignee: Any. _

“That’s fucked up,” Donghyuck mutters, draping himself heavily over Jeno’s shoulder as he leans in even closer. Jeno knows the other god is aware of his personal connection to the assignment, since he’s sure he gushed to Donghyuck about the adorable meet-cute he facilitated for Kun just a few months back. “I can go talk to Doyoung, if you want. He can swap it with one of mine.”

“No!” Jeno shields the papers from Donghyuck’s attempt to take them from him, and quickly flips to the next page. To his surprise, there’s a second soul listed:

_Name: Nakamoto Yuta._ _Designation: Mortal (Earth). Age: 25._

_ Orientation: Emotional Attraction (Bi). Soulmate: Identified. 3-029-602-621d (Qian Kun). _

_ Assignment Type: Late identification. Urgency: Level 3. Assignee: See attached. _

“Oh.”

“What?” Donghyuck straightens up, watching Jeno expectantly, but all he can do is stare down at the profile in his hands. There are several other pages, because Level 3 assignments are anything but simple, but he’ll worry about those later. Right now, he’s overwhelmed with sympathy for this mortal he’s never met, who is about to gain the love of his life at an unfathomable cost.

“This human lost his soulmate.” Jeno points at the first page, then the second. “And, as a result, this one found his.” He sighs, swiping a thumb over each of the printed names. “It really makes you think, huh?”

“About what?”

“About where all of us fit into the universe.” When Donghyuck doesn't speak, uncharacteristically quiet for his usually effusive friend, Jeno continues. “I mean, we spend every single day bringing people together. Mortal souls bound together by fate and whatever. It’s all very romantic.”

“I don’t — ” Donghyuck frowns, crouching down in the small space so that his face is on Jeno’s level. “I don’t understand.”

“What about everyone else?” Jeno knows that he probably shouldn't be saying this. He’s in an office full of gods who could make his life miserable for airing his thoughts, but it’s like he can’t stop now that he’s started. “What about the souls who slip through the cracks? The ones who lose their soulmates? The ones who never had one to start with? What happens to them?”

“Jen — ” Jeno isn’t finished, so he silences Donghyuck with a wave of his hand.

“What about me?” He makes direct eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time, even though he knows he’s risking the other god seeing right through the facade he’s spent decades building. “What about us?”

Donghyuck freezes in place, wide eyes locked on Jeno’s face. He doesn’t look like he’s even breathing, every muscle in his body tensed as they stare at one another. Jeno wants to break the stalemate, to look away first, but he can’t. He can’t because Donghyuck has finally figured it out. He’s seeing the truth for the very first time, and Jeno is trapped.

He doesn’t remember when it happened. He doesn’t remember the exact moment he realised he was in love with his best friend. With all the names and memories floating around inside his head, he probably should, but Donghyuck has been his constant companion for longer than most mortals could even imagine.

That annoying voice in his ear when he’s trying to concentrate. That bright, lilting laugh whenever he tells a joke at lunch that’s really not that funny. The voice of reason when Jeno is tempted to do something stupid, and the instigator of mayhem just when Jeno thinks life is getting stale. 

Donghyuck is the person he knows best in the universe, the one person who knows him better than he knows himself. What may have started as idle conversation over a cubicle wall a few centuries ago, at least for Jeno, gradually blossomed into something more. Something deeper. Something alive.

“Jeno…” He can’t bear to have Donghyuck say the words. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the gentle rejection he can sense coming, so he interrupts it and turns his attention back to the assignment pillowed in his lap.

“You should get back to work, Hyuck,” he says firmly. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

“I — ” Donghyuck frowns at him, obvious confusion etched into his features, but rises to his feet without protest. He starts to leave, but then turns back to look at Jeno. “Have you ever looked?”

“What?”

“At your own thread. Have you ever looked?” Donghyuck doesn’t wait for an answer, disappearing behind the tall partition wall before Jeno can open his mouth. His departure leaves a faint chill in the air, his aura fading a little, and Jeno shivers.

Now that Donghyuck has mentioned it, Jeno doesn't know why he’s never considered it before. He knows that lesser gods like him are woven into the tapestries of the universe too. Their threads are longer, testament to their immortality, but they are still bound to obey the whims of fate, just like everyone else.

Closing his eyes, he lets his consciousness detach itself once again. This time, instead of reaching for the comforting embrace of the wind, he tries to remain in the celestial plane. It’s not easy, and he feels his control start to slip a few times, but eventually he finds himself hovering just above his own body.

Below him, his corporeal fingers are twitching, instinctually seeking out the thread and shuttle that are as much a part of him now as his flesh and bone. His face slackens, head dropping forward until his chin is grazing his chest, but Jeno ignores all of that. Instead, his gaze is drawn inexorably to his navel and to the unmistakable scarlet thread that is tethered to him, strained and taut as it protrudes from his core and passes straight through the wall of his cubicle like smoke.

His tether is thick, more of a rope than a thread, and it’s glowing so brightly that it’s difficult for Jeno to focus on it for too long. The red beneath is that of blood, glistening darkly as the fabric ripples despite the unnatural stillness. Jeno has never seen a bond this strong before, and he starts to follow it without thinking. He needs to see what’s on the other end. He has to know.

As he passes through the partition, he’s surprised to see Donghyuck curled up on the floor on the other side. His back is pressed flat against the thin wall, knees tucked up into his core like they’re being pulled towards a central point by some impossibly powerful force. As Jeno watches, Donghyuck shifts just a little and he spots the telltale flutter of a scarlet cord as it spears through Donghyuck’s spine from behind.

Just then, Donghyuck lifts his head and looks straight at him. Jeno knows it’s not possible, that there’s no way he can see him, but the pained look on Donghyuck’s face is enough to make him lose his focus for a moment. There’s a sharp tug in his gut, his magic yanking him backwards, and he’s tumbling back into his own body.

“Oh.” There’s a muffled thud from somewhere nearby, and then Donghyuck is careening back into his personal space. Unshed tears cling to his lashes and his expression is guarded, but there’s a faint hope there that Jeno has never seen before. “How long have you known?”

“Too long.”

“And do you — ?” Jeno doesn’t want to finish that sentence, but then Donghyuck is kissing him. It’s barely a brush of skin against skin, but the maelstrom of emotions wrapped up in it have Jeno reeling. He allows himself to simply drown in it — in the way Donghyuck’s aura coils around his own — and he wonders how he could ever have been so blind.

“Does that answer your question?” They’re both breathing heavily as Jeno leans back, despite the fact that neither of them actually requires oxygen, and Donghyuck chuckles at the dumbstruck expression on his face.

“Yeah.” Jeno buries his face into Donghyuck’s shoulder, hiding his embarrassment. “I think it does.”


End file.
